


The First Word

by Nightscrawl



Series: The Meaning of More [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightscrawl/pseuds/Nightscrawl
Summary: Where Dorian finds an indirect way to state his feelings.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus/Male Warrior Trevelyan
Series: The Meaning of More [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/974214
Kudos: 40





	The First Word

**Author's Note:**

> Continued thanks to [Schattenriss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss) for doing the beta.

Having lately returned from their informative trip to the Western Approach, Dorian sat in his library nook. Crossed legs propped on a tiny stool, he relaxed and read while waiting for the Inquisition to complete its preparations. The siege of Adamant fortress was fast approaching, and he wanted to be ready, physically and mentally, for the grand battle. Such a spectacle would be a new experience, the knowledge of which filled him with a tumultuous eager, anxious, anticipatory dread.

“Hey, Dorian?” a voice interrupted, and Dorian looked up to see Ithamar Hawke before him, leaning against the farther shelves.

Taking quick note of the page number, Dorian set the book aside and rose from his seat. “The Champion of Kirkwall! To what do I owe this privilege? Shouldn’t you be off planning the upcoming siege?”

“I was. They started arguing about the best course of action, so I slipped out while the Inquisitor was trying to corral them. I’m not much of a military man. Despite my reputation, I prefer a bit of subtlety.”

Dorian grinned. “I wouldn’t exactly call defeating the arishok in single combat ‘subtle.’ I was in Minrathous at the time; it was _the_ topic for weeks. For a—” he interrupted himself before saying _soporati_ ; after a pause, he continued, “a non-mage, you have quite a few fans there.”

“Well, you answered a question I had. One of them at least.”

“What question was that?”

“I’ve heard… around that you’re Tevinter. I know firsthand how rumors can grow out of control, so I wanted to ask.”

Dorian heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, I’m Tevinter, just like Erimond,” he said, then began to tick off points using his fingers, as if he’d addressed them numerous times before. “No, I’m not a magister; that’s a political rank. No, I don’t use blood magic; the cost for power ratio is too great. No, I don’t know him; not that I’d care to and we likely moved in different circles. No, I absolutely do not support what he’s doing or buy into his grand vision of a restored Tevinter. The Tevinter he wants is not _my_ Tevinter. And frankly, the destruction of Thedas by a rampaging horde of demons is not only horrific, but so bloody asinine it leads me to doubt Erimond’s mental acuity.”

After finishing his rant, Dorian paused to gauge Ithamar’s reaction and was satisfied to see the man stunned into silence. “Is there anything else? Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“Just how many times have you been asked all of that?”

“Explicitly? In truth, not many. Most are too polite to come out with their suspicions directly.”

“If I had any, I promise I’d be explicit about it. The Inquisitor trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” Dorian said. Though Ithamar had diffused the tension between them, he wanted to move on from his overblown reaction and asked, “You had more than one question?”

“Yes. I’m assuming you’ve read Varric’s book. You seem the bookish sort to read everything.”

“I do? I’ll have to work on that.”

“You’re standing in a library.”

“An astute observation! Yes, I have read the thing in all its hyperbolic glory.”

“I’ll throw ‘astute’ right back at you. A lot of it is, some of it isn’t.”

“I’m sure Varric would say that the best tales are built around truth.”

“He would. I ask because it mentions Fenris.”

“Ah, yes! Fenris is from Tevinter,” Dorian said, then grew wary. “You’re not going to ask about slavery, are you?”

Ithamar snorted a laugh. “No. I know better than to bring up that mess, though Fenris would if he were here.”

“I’m sure it would be an interesting meeting, to say the least.”

“ ‘Interesting.’ Uh-huh. He sometimes says things in Tevinter; he especially likes to swear in it.”

“Ha! Yes, it is a wonderfully expressive language for the more colorful metaphors. Though an exclamatory, ‘Fuck!’ is good in its own right,” Dorian said, stomping his foot to add emphasis.

Ithamar grinned. “I wanted to ask you for something I could say. Something not a swear. It will probably be a long while until I see him again, and I know he’s pissed at me for leaving him behind, so I’d like to surprise him with it. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Charmed by the request, Dorian smiled as he said, “Meserre Hawke. Does he know you’re this sweet about him?”

“I’d like to think that’s partly why we’re together, so, yes?”

Dorian chuckled, thought for a moment, then offered, “Call him ‘amatus.’ I think he’ll appreciate it.”

“ ‘Amatus,’ ” Ithamar repeated, testing the word in his own mouth. “Thank you. _I_ appreciate it.”

Ithamar extended his hand and they shook. “Now, I guess I’ll go see if your Inquisitor is done wrangling his advisors and all of their Ideas about this siege,” he said, and departed.

Once the visitor had gone—an amusing diversion, for Dorian did not get many outside of Judah—he settled back to resume his relaxing and reading. Not even five minutes later, the voice was back.

“I, uh, forgot to ask what it means.”

Dorian laughed. “I was wondering about that,” he said. He smiled, thinking of someone other than the one before him, and replied, “It means ‘beloved.’ ”

* * * * *

Having come down from the height of their pleasure, their breath was calm once more. Legs tangled together in the sheets, they lay staring at one another. Judah brought a hand up to trace the line of Dorian’s trimmed hair, lingering afterward to play his fingers through it.

Relaxing under the movement, Dorian closed his eyes and began to drift away.

“Dorian.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know that I love you?” Judah asked. But it was also a statement. The hand came down to rest on Dorian’s hip.

A breath caught in his throat. Dorian opened his eyes, brought back to full awareness after drifting on the edge of sleep a moment before. Judah’s tone was calm and curious; his face showed no anxiety.

Did he know? How could he not? He saw it in every look. He heard it in every word, every pleasured moan, every contented sigh. He felt it in every gesture, in everything the other did, and let him do, in their lovemaking. He could call it that, couldn’t he? Sex was so much _more_ when felt this way. Of course he knew. But it was one thing to feel and to know; it was another to hear the words. It somehow made the feeling tangible, a fragile thing, the lightest gossamer that would float away if he dared to reach out and touch it; if he made a mistake and took it for granted. Why was he gifted with something so precious? What had he done to deserve it?

Always at the back of his mind was the mote of fear that this was an ephemeral mist, to be burned away with the rising sun when all was over. To acknowledge Judah’s feeling, and his own in return, was to acknowledge the fear. Judah spoke the words. He was not ready to return them.

Throat tightening, heat bloomed in his face. Putting a hand on the side of Judah’s face, he leaned forward to kiss him with the gentlest brush of the lips as he replied, “Yes, amatus.” The word came unbidden and he surprised himself. But it felt right, and he was content. He would allow himself this one expression of his feeling. This one word. He knew his love could wait for the rest.

End.


End file.
